Birds in Paradise

Part 15

Don't take it personally? How could I not? It was my life...and, despite what Pete thought, I was rather attached to it. But begrudgingly, I had to admit that Mr. Fu was right. I'd solved the puzzle of why someone wanted to plant me under the nearest palm tree, and I needed to move on. I needed to focus on finding those missing women again.

No matter how cleverly either Pete or I prodded, Mr. Fu refused to budge on his story. Apparently, he had no idea what had happened to the missing prostitutes. No one in his far-reaching hierarchy was involved...or so he said. And perhaps he truly didn't know. His illness had taken a visible toll on him. It was possible to believe that, for once, things were happening in Honolulu that he knew nothing about.

Mr. Fu didn't believe it, of course. He was convinced that a madman—a loner, an unknown—had to be killing the women. Otherwise, he would have heard about it. For Anna and Tina's sake, I prayed he was wrong.

With that unhappy thought eating at my mind—I was still brimming with questions—I let Pete herd me out of Mr. Fu's room. Blakely and Grant were waiting just outside the doorway. Naturally I checked out their shoes. Grant's looked like the run-of-the-mill chucky black dress shoe nearly every cop on the HPD owned. Blakely's shoes, on the other hand, were slender, fitted works of art. In fact, they were the exact kind of shoe Pete was wearing on his feet.

Pete came from money. Everyone who knew anything about the islands knew of his family. They owned a chain of hotels, some of them so posh that it would cost me a week's worth of groceries just to stand in the lobby. I figured he could afford to waste his money on handmade shoes.

Blakely didn't. At least, I didn't think so. Perhaps he'd inherited from a rich uncle. Or maybe Pete had bought him that particular pair of shoes for Christmas. Or there was a chance that Mr. Fu was right...

Was Blakely a dirty cop?

I eyed him from head to toe. He was snarling at the time. He seemed to do that whenever I was within spitting distance. Pete had gone easy on me and had gotten me back on my law-abiding feet when Blakely had wanted to drag me downtown and toss my butt into jail. To Blakely, I was just another problem to be swept away. I was a criminal who had escaped justice.

Tell that to Mamma Jo. She'd made sure I'd worked my fingers until they were bloody, scrubbing every corner of her hotel in exchange for her paying back the four newlywed couples I had robbed. I considered my debt to society paid in full.

Blakely didn't. He was one of those black and white, good and evil kind of guys. It made him an efficient cop, a cop immune to corruption. He wouldn't cross that line. He wouldn't bend the rules for anyone, not even if it meant a bunch of extra money for his pockets. I might not like the guy, but I couldn't believe he'd sell his soul in order to get his hands on enough money to give him the freedom to purchase a pair of handmade shoes. Not Blakely. Not in a million years.

Which meant the earth should be trembling.

Mr. Fu was wrong.

Pete must have come to the same conclusion. As soon as the four of us stepped into the bright sunlight outside of Mr. Fu's house, he handed the slip of paper Mr. Fu had given us to Blakely. "Pick him up."

"On what charge?" Blakely asked, scowling now at the paper instead of me.

"Attempted murder. He attacked Kyra."

Blakely glanced at me and folded his arms over his chest. Grant mirrored him. "You think I'm going to make an arrest based solely on information given to us by known mobster?"

"No, you're going to arrest this bastard because I'm telling you to arrest him."

I was proud of myself for knowing well enough to keep my mouth shut. I might have been the root cause of the power struggle between Blakely and Pete, but that didn't mean it was any of my business. Adding my two cents into the mix would only make the two men growl at me.

And I didn't have time to waste. "Those four missing women need us to stay focused," I found myself shouting.

"Six," Grant corrected.

"Six?"

"You've been in the hospital for nearly two weeks," Grant reminded me. "And a sixteen-year-old blonde went missing just last night."

I felt the blood drain from my head. "A sixteen year old?"

Grant nodded gravely.

"What the hell are you doing?" Blakely snapped at Grant.

"Bringing her up to speed."

"Well, don't."

"Pete—" I fought for a smooth breath as both rage and fear for those women simmered in my chest. "Why...didn't...you...tell...me? Why...didn't...you...tell...me...about...the...?"

"Because it isn't your business, Kyra." He grabbed my arm. "I'm taking her home. Call me when you get the bastard who stabbed her in custody. I'll want to question him."

"Not my business?"

He gave me a gentle push toward his car.

"Not my business?"

I planted my feet on the sidewalk and refused to move.

"Don't make me toss you over my shoulder," Pete warned. "I'm taking you home. I'm keeping you safe."

"I don't think so."

He grabbed both my arms. "Those missing women aren't your responsibility. Hell, you almost got yourself killed by playing detective when you damn well know you aren't qualified. I won't let that happen again. You're my 'ohana, my responsibility. I won't let you get hurt."

His 'ohana. His family. Like a goofy little sister.

When would he figure out that he was the only person who had the power to hurt me? No one else could pull apart my heart like he could.

"I can take care of myself," I think I forced through my gritted teeth. Okay, I also added something vicious, something I'm too embarrassed to repeat. In my defense, I was furious with him—and, worse, frustrated that he didn't see me as a lover.

Pete jerked away as if I'd slapped him.

"I've been doing a damn good job on my own," I said, lowering my voice. Blakely had paused at his patrol car and was watching us with too much interest. "I wish you could see that. I wish you could see that I'm not helpless."

"You were nearly killed," Pete protested.

"I was stabbed, but I didn't die. And I'm going to be okay. Please, Pete, I don't know how to put this nicely. I don't want or need your protection. Either help me or get out of my way."

"I can't do that, Kyra."

"And I can't let you lock me away like I'm a china doll. Those six women need protection, not me." My determination fueled my resolve, giving me more energy than a person fresh out of the hospital should have had. I was going to find those missing women. And I was going to find them before the sun set behind the city's lush mountains.

Pete and I glared at each other, neither willing to budge.

"Don't do this," Pete whispered, his expression raw with emotion.

This was where our relationship ended.

To Pete I would always be that skinny college kid stealing wallets from the tourists. There was nothing I could say to get him to understand how much I'd changed over the years, how much I had grown. So instead of throwing myself against that prickly brick wall, I shook my head and walked away from my beloved Aloha Pete.